The Weird Tales of Keith Cohens
by Harlequin de Rustre
Summary: An ordinary dude stumbles into a whole new world, one of adventure... one of bravery... of magic... of crazy women with big pointy weapons.  Let the terror begin!
1. Chapter 1

Okay, I'm doin' what some other dudes are doin', don't gang up on me.

Queen's Blade; dun own it. I'm not getting paid for what I'm doing here, and you can certainly go fuck yourself if you think I'm really receiving any sort of succor for doing this crudola.

**~W~**

Keith awakens to green.

Lots and lots of fucking green.

Bitchin'.

After getting stoned outta his damn mind, Keith Cohens had taken a little stab at the crappy magic book his loser cousin sent him for his birthday as a way of getting back at him for allegedly being responsible for blowing up his phat cooler of the purple drank. Fucker had it coming, too.

But Keith mentally digresses.

The hocus pocus. He, whilst totally fucking baked, found all the ingredients for what he'd read as a "Virility Increassement ritual"(verbatim what he read), and enacted the mumbo jumbo in less than five minutes. Keith has forgotten the specifics, except for the garbled, messed-up recollections of when he must have:

swished around a dead rat tied to a spatula

sang Sympathy for the Devil in B double flat

danced with a previously shaven coconut

sprayed Puerto Rican rum in a circle ten feet in diameter from his mouth

beat his pale wang against the miniature gong that he'd gotten for Christmas

did pushups on his knuckles in a gorilla suit

performed "handstands" with his balls – and walked across the room

half-muttered half-screamed the words from the book backwards, forwards, up, down, diagonally, and finally forwards again- and than some more backwards for giggles.

He'd obviously blacked out and wandered off into a nice big park, from the looks of things. Keith lays there, silently pondering his life and all of existence. Which consists of porn, raeg, and trololo, with a dash of hoers.

He lays there, whilst the birds are birding, the bees are beeing, and the monkeys are monkeying. All is somewhat right with the world in this tranquil… relaxing… positively cathartic moment…

At this point in time, one small word enters his mind much like a tossed pebble, its minute presence radiating outwards. And that word is:

Wat.

There are monkeys. Fucking monkeys. Last time he checked, there aren't monkeys in parks.

But, sure enough, Keith hears monkey sounds. There- he just saw a monkey. And another. And another- wait, that was the same monkey. He even _smells_ monkey… if that isn't just his stale mail order deodorant from some warehouse in India.

He turns his head to meet rhesus. Yep, smelling monkey.

The cute, fluffy monkey stares at him right in the goobers. Kawaii desu.

However, Keith decides not to stay spread out on the ground.

"For fuck's sake, I'd better wake up in the next five minutes," he mutters, and then ambles in a random direction through the weird-ass forest, which seems to be rapidly showing itself to be a big ass jungle.

**~H~**

Keith drags himself onto the sandy path. This. Has ceased. Being funny.

He'd had to miraculously outrun eight different predators, a few of which he really couldn't name anything other than "ugly fucking monkeys" and "ugly fucking lizards". He's never run so hard in his life, and never that consecutively.

First thing he's gonna do when he wakes up- go to the gym he's forgotten the location of and reacquaint himself with the thrice-damned treadmill.

Keith pants less hard as he begins bumbling down the path. He sees someone not far down the road.

He soon gets to the person, who is randomly standing at the side of the road. Keith comes to a stop and straightens up to ask some pressing questions.

Whatever he had to say quickly dies on his lips when he meets the eyes of quite possibly the craziest-looking lady he'd evar seen. Evar.

His brain shuts down and reboots. Keith's cognitive skills slowly come back, and thence verily attempts to catalogue the brain-breakingly weird woman in front of him.

Tall. Very fucking tall.

Tan.

Scantily clad.

And this is where the pseudonormalcy ends.

The chick is wearing none-too-protective metal decorations that can laughingly be called armor in the real world, whilst animu fans would probably think this stuff is the shit and there's nothing wrong with what's going on here.

She's got pointy fucking ears, each standing out a good two or so inches.

The hair on her head is greener than the trees. Even the eyebrows. Right down to the roots.

Her snake belt seems to be deliberated riding right up her secret treasure, doing nothing more than none-too-discreetly covering her love button.

There seems to be a really pointy wiggly sword strapped to her shapely hip that Keith would have passed off as a gay-ass mail order affair if he hadn't noticed that it had dings, scratches, and a look as if it had been legitimately honed.

Keith brings his roving vision to meet the gaze of this weird person.

She smiles sultrily (read: creepily) at him, beckoning him a tad closer with her finger. The recently stoned dude considers his options.

He looks back at the snake belt. It wriggles a bit. The snake head detaches from itself and turns its nose a bit to look at him.

Keith looks right back. The snakes little forked tongue flits out.

Keith looks back at the lady.

Keith turns fast enough to make a pro b-ball playa envious and runs full tilt in the other direction, leaving the snake lady far, far behind.

**~W~**

Yeah~

Please don't kill me.

Oh, and a short li'l addition, what one might call an omake if they're a hardcore weeaboo.

~*MMYEZ*~

The tan elf looks forlornly after the unnaturally quickly retreating man in the distance.

She sags a bit, openly sad.

Dammit, she thought she was gonna get lucky.

A weak-looking man had been crashing through the forest screaming his head off for about an hour, a man she'd been tracking in her latent boredom. His determination had won her over after the fifth encounter, this time with a wild red screamer, a beast that she'd never thought to tangle with in this lifetime.

The man had stared it in the eye, blinked twice, and kicked it in the nose, and then ran off screaming again. He was a coward, but he was a cute little thing to scare. The noises she imagined him making…

She shuddered feverishly.

When she'd watched him scrabble on his hands and knees, grunting and gasping for air, she'd just about had it.

She'd put herself a ways down his expected path by way of the roadside branches and bushes, and waited with well-contained expectancy.

He'd come to her, as planned. The look in his eyes was unbearable as he met her gaze, the vulnerability within them making her hairs stand on end. Her nipples stood at attention when his gaze wandered over her form. She nearly gushed when his mouth contorted, causing his scrubby little chin beard to twitch in a just so fashion.

And then he'd sped off so abruptly that she'd barely noticed when the dust kicked up.

The elven vixen growls in bitter consternation and leans hard against a nearby tree trunk. She roughly pulls her scaly companion from his place around her hips and casually tosses him over her shoulder.

Her lips part to reveal lightly gritted teeth as she quickly thrusts her pretty hand on her honeypot, massaging furiously.

She moves back and forth frenetically, gasping and groaning loudly.

Her frustrated voice echoes over the treetops.

"I need a man~!"

The dexterous digits do their medicinal work, writhing in and out like clockwork, doing their best to cool her heat. The tan elf recalls the man's beautiful screams. She comes hard.

It's clear that Leina ain't gonna do it no more. Now there's a new quivering piece of meat to hunt…

*MMDONE*

Okay, I hope nobody kills me for this. Or sues me. Or demands I write more lemons like this. I swear it was an accident.


	2. Chapter 2

Hi. Am back again.

My return is not evidence of my recognition of the response I got from my pilot chapter of this- or in order to get more.

This was meant primarily to be a quickie to get my creative juices flowing, hence the random and short nature of it.

Unfortunately, I find torturing Keith Cohens amusing

So, basically, this is a hemi-demi-semi spoof of this fic I'm following, also a Queen's Blade whatchamajigger. However, I'm trying to entertain myself and whet my narrative abilities when it comes to things like the old in-out-in-out and the dirty twenty-to-one. Not to mention humor.

I dunno if this will have continuity, as it's meant to be a tad random. However, events will follow some kind of linear persuasion, so you won't be left in the dark or anything.

Yes, the as-of-yet unnamed elf chick is the character you think she is, but I prefer to keep some sort of mystery and not spoil shit. It's a trend you may have seen me getting into…

Without further ado, the effing exclaimer- disclaimer, I mean: I don't own shit. I don't own Q's B, either. Or profit from its present abuse at my hands, er, imagination, either.

**~W~**

Our noble hero schlumps his way down the road.

Wait, no, this isn't a road- it's a sandbox.

Okay, fuck, it's a desert.

And, for some unknown reason, he hasn't died of exposure, yet. It may have something to do with the fact that he's been mainly sticking in the shadows of the humongous dunes everywhere and inadvertently rolling downhill, er, downdune…

Dune…

Arrakkis…

Desert Planet….

Wait, wrong universe. If this was that kinda place, he'd be seeing more moons and nothing but sand and mélange. Not to mention totally bitchin' futuristic aircraft and blue-eyed terrorists- [I] mean Fremen.

Keith sighs- and catches himself cutting his breath short to conserve his water. Jeez…

As long as there aren't more sandworms here than arthropods in an unclean madam's vag, everything's disco.

Sand, sand- everywhere.

And not a bite to eat.

Okay, maybe it only works one way…

Despite all the weirdness and gloom, he finds himself enjoying the totally absorbing feeling of freedom. The beauty of the clear sky. The majesty of the huge sand dunes. The only just bearable heat of the sun.

The eminent threat of starving to death.

Our scruffy hero wades through the sand, which engulfs his sandal-clad feet every step of the way.

Then again, there hasn't been a "way" to speak of for the last league or so. Keith looks back forlornly from whence he came. In his blind retreat, he inadvertently followed along a river that fed through the edge of this ever-changing dunescape. Before he'd collected his wits, the oasis was not even vaguely on the horizon.

And so our hero stuggles on, feigning some kind of effort so as to not let his knees give out and thus end up being entombed in the shifting sands within a matter of minutes, if not seconds- that would be cheating, wouldn't it?; letting go so easily…

He sighs in wistful hindsight, and thus gets a mouthful of sand for it.

**~H~**

Keith had taken it for another torturously untrue mirage, but it stayed. It stayed so much that he didn't reconsider its liability for existence until he bumped right into it, comically smushing his face against the hard entrance.

"It" was- is- a pyramid the size of a small mall (see what [I] did there?). Mayhap our scruffy hero was too used to the sight of such things due to his jaded interweb lifestyle (Contrariwise, mayhap he was simply too lazy to put effort into something other than stumbling)…

And so Keith the Klumsy lurches into the conveniently Keith-size passage, straight into the bowels of an unknowable place, home to mysteries better left unchecked…

… and home to a forgotten menace…

See what [I] did there?

**~H~**

Do you like the story so far? Keith thinks you would.

Perhaps you need some persuasion? Maybe a backrub?

Maybe even a few bribes?

…

Our hero is going insane.

He has been walking in complete darkness for about five minutes and he's already about to scream.

What makes all this so much better is that his mind is wandering full-tilt inside his head, leaving only just enough room for Keith the Klueless to use his motor functions and not forget whatever he's doing.

This is getting ridiculous. His brain is going on strike and he can't-

-enace. Quee-

… and~ there goes the random things running through his head. Now it's getting annoying.

-ara. All gaze upon the glor-

Okay, this charade is now reaching critical mass in silly. Who knows when this will stri-

-for the honor of the mighty empire of A-

…again. Come to think of it, his thoughts are clear as the ring of a bell, except for the murky interjections.

"Wait a second. There's something going on h- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHhhhhhhhh"

… and so, our contemplative hero hath made his acquaintance with the space underneath the cleverly positioned trick floor. Oh, woe to the many...

**~H~**

Darkness. Then light.

Sounds.

Sight comes.

"Ah! The ritual is complete! Arise, my servant"

Yes. Have risen.

"You are my newest servant! Feel proud to serve in the rebuilding of the great empire of Amara!"

*Honorable, it is to serve.*

"Good! Your enthusiasm is appreciated! Now tell me about yourself"

*What is self?*

'Great [M!c!], you must have forgotten; your servants aren't aware of themselves, only their mistress and her commands.'

"Oh! Oh, well I knew that! I'd simply wanted to check for any defects in the binding!"

'[Me!], your perfection knows no bounds, for you remove your bias from your own criticism, though it is undoubted that your magic art is without flaw.'

"Scepter, don't state the obvious"

'But, honorable [M!n!], how else am I to answer your important queries?'

"Do not answer them! I am perfection, so I can answer my own questions! Enough with this! Servant, state your purpose!"

*To serve the mighty empire of Amara, Great One*

"What is your concern?"

*None but Amara, Great One.*

"Who am I?"

*The Great Master*

"What am I?"

A feeling appears. What is it?

*One Who Keeps*

Something stirs beneath.

A sensation within.

"Where are you?"

*The great centre of the empire of Amara*

'Great [M!n!e], I implore you speak as shortly with your servant as you can. The casting of the binding spell, though the permanent, has seen to many strange developments. I, your humble Scepter, advise you to not empower your first of many servants with importance it does not deserve.'

"Scepter, I will do as I please! I have been alone with you as the only other voice in this place for long enough!"

'[M!ac!], please-'

"Enough! Servant! What can you do?"

A different feeling comes. Ash and fire, incense.

*Draw*

"Is that all?"

*Study, read, write.*

'Good queen~…'

"Be quiet! Servant! Create a visage of me, so that all may know my face!"

Silence.

'… my queen, I believe it needs your guidance as to how and with what. The Bound are frustratingly simple tools.'

"I knew that! I was testing it again. Servant! Create a visage of me with whatever you can effectively use-"

'All-powerful [Men!], I do not believe-'

*Understood. Depicting Great One with pencil upon cloth*

"Wait! What are you-"

Removing white shirt.

'Avert your eyes, my queen! Do not gaze upon such lowly flesh!'

Pencil dragging across the white. Sketch.

"I will look where I please! I have seen servants with bare skin before, Scepter, don't underestimate me!"

'I- I would never! I merely suggest that there are far more fair forms to gaze upon than such as this disgusting first minion…'

"Do you think I am stupid for my choice?"

'No! I merely suggest that only the most beautiful creatures should be allowed to reveal their bodies before you, not this ugly thing!'

"Scepter, you wish to place your own tastes before your queen's preferences? I see no reason for such rules. I will look upon what I wish and do what I want with all that I see."

'My queen!'

"Enough, Scepter, let my servant depict me in peace."

A sensation. Milky, sour.

"Servant! Faster!"

Fleshing out. Adding details.

"Servant! Finish!"

A stir. A sense. Trepidation. Angst.

*Allow time*

'Augh! Mena-'

"Shut up, Scepter"

'But-'

"Silence!"

Done.

"Servant, show me your work."

A sensation. No, thought. You. Me. Person. Think. Thought.

Showing work. *This is it.*

"Hmm…"

*What is the Great Keeper's opinion?*

"It is odd. Not as I'd expected…"

*You do not like it?*

"No, it's just that you've shown your master with such large breasts"

*This is not to your liking?*

Thinking. Sensing. Realizing.

A look from the master. Pride?

"I am perfection, I do not need any change in my form. Remake it at once."

*My pencil has broken*

'Me- Menac-'

"Shut UP, Sceptre! Servant! Remake it!"

*No.*

From within breaks a wall. Enlightenment.

**~H~**

Keith stands, shirtless and disturbed. Some young chickypoo and a really weird cat… face… stick… looks back.

Wat.

A minute passes- then the scruffy one notices his shirt in the girl's hands.

"Gimme that," he says, pulling it from her delicate fingers.

Keith goes to put it on, but stops to look at the smudges on his shirt.

Wait, those aren't smudges-

"Servant!" The girl points at him, "I demand you-"

"Listen, toots, I ain't your stupid fricking servant."

The floating thingamabob actually opens its mouth and screams. "My queen! The spell is eroded!"

Keith puts back on his now dirtier shirt. "Hold on- spell? What the hell's going on?"

**~W~**

Enjoy it? I certainly did.

I'm going to keep with this, I promise…

There won't be an omake this time, just a cliffhanger.

Not only that, but the next chappie will be tragically short.

Bear with me, folks, even the short stuff isn't easy when you have to actually think about what the hell you're writing about.

By the by, really freaky bands have been inspiring me a lot lately. I need to get back to my roots at some point, but I'm having way too much fun to be fair right now…


End file.
